Yes Chef!
by thatsmuchbetter
Summary: Killian Jones is a formidable executive chef who dominates his kitchen like a captain dominates his ship. Short after Emma Swan – a young aspiring sous-chef – joins his team, she masters a wicked plan to bring the chef-almighty to his knees. Her plan however, might turn out to be more than she bargained for. Smut alert.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Just a fun, sexy story that the muse demanded. But I haven't forgotten Teenage Dream – I'm already working on the next chapter and hope to update soon.

* * *

 **Prologue**

She was out to get him, and the sooner she did, the better.

It was only Emma's sixth night on the job and she was already cursing all the way there. They called it the kitchens of Neverland – a mouthwatering Michelin starred restaurant in the heart of Chicago. She called it hell. And Killian Jones – the executive head chef – was like the devil himself.

Killian was a force of nature in the kitchen. He exuded the impeccable self-confidence of Gordon Ramsay, the captivating English charm of Jamie Oliver and inherent expertise that could put every top chef to shame.

Under different circumstances she would've said he was a handsome man. Even strikingly so. He had luscious – and presumably very kissable – lips; a blade of a nose and neatly trimmed stubble along his masculine square jaw. His unruly inky-black hair framed his magnificent bone structure and impossible blue eyes.

But all of that gorgeousness was pointless since he wore a perpetual frown.

What a waste.

Not that he was a man who inspired pity or sympathy… Resentment and hatred were more like it.

Every single day since Emma had joined the team, he'd made her participate in the preparations. _Goddamn preparations_. She hadn't had to do those since the first year of her career. For fuck's sake, she was a sous-chef not the kitchen help. But Killian had different ideas.

Ugh! His name alone was enough to make her blood boil. Yes, he was a brilliant chef, one whom surely she could learn a lot from – had he bothered to teach – but he was also the rudest person she'd ever had to work with.

With quick mind, even quicker hands and razor sharp tongue, he dominated the kitchen ruthlessly. His style bold and aggressive. And the formidable blue gaze he casted everywhere he went was enough to let one know he took shit from no one. Killian was a gifted, driven chef who more than knew his way around myriad cuisines. In the kitchen he had two dozen pairs of eyes looking up to him and the same number of ears constantly awaiting his instructions; which in his authoritative gruff voice sounded more like commands. Everyone – apprentices to sous-chefs – was quick to yield to his every demand.

Everyone except Emma.

And since Killian was not only the king of the kitchen who ruled his realm effortlessly but also the owner of the restaurant, he could put her out of a job at any given moment. Yet Emma didn't care. Not one bit. If he fired her it'd look bad on her resume, no doubt about that. But there was just so much that she was willing to bear. The man was blunt and obnoxious. Words like _please_ and _thank you_ did not exist in his vocabulary. If asked, the arrogant prick would probably say that every member of his team should feel privileged to work alongside him.

…

"You're _late_." Killian's harsh tone accompanied by a fierce pinning gaze caused Emma to pause midstep; earning her sympathizing gazes from some of the other employees that were gathered in the expansive space of the restaurant kitchen.

"Not according to my phone, I'm not." She had the audacity to retort and wiggle her smartphone as proof while stepping further into the room.

"Then I suggest you set it to network-provided." Was his curt reply before he averted his attention back to the team and resumed going over the courses for the evening. "That's the end of this discussion Swan." Killian barked and held a hand to cut her off when she opened her mouth to speak.

Jesus. Emma's brows shot up. How the hell did he know she was going to say something if he didn't even glance her way?

Just when she thought she couldn't possibly hate him even more...

While everyone's gazes concentrated on their recipes in hands, Emma's hands slipped under the counter, hiding the phone from view so she could set the clock as her crude boss suggested just a moment earlier. When the time synchronized she realized she had been late by only two minutes. _Two fucking minutes_. That man was such an asshat.

"Swan!" He startled her, his tone taking that hard warning edge that told her to keep her mouth shut. "Did I say you can do it right now?"

Since it was a rhetorical question, she didn't reply. Instead, she shoved the phone back in her bag and whipped out her white chef's jacket. She slipped into the familiar material then grabbed a copy of the recipes for tonight's dishes.

Refusing to look at the man, she kept her eyes on the papers in hand. But unfortunately there was no way for her to avoid hearing his voice. It was low and smooth, and flavored with a delicious accent that brought sex to mind.

With every word he spoke fury simmered and a plan began to form. Thinking of kicking it into gear, Emma ran idle fingers over the lacy strap of her new bustier bra and remembered her best friend's words – why get mad when you can get even?

Regina Mills was known for her vindictive nature, some even said she was a cold-hearted bitch that had pure evil blood flowing through her veins. And witnessing what her friend was capable of, Emma wouldn't normally be the one to argue with that statement. Only this time Emma couldn't help but agree with her best friend.

Chef Jones deserved everything that was coming for him.

She'd do anything – anything – to give the haughty chef a taste of his own medicine. So against every feminist bone in her body, Emma was going to lay on as much female charm as it would take to bring Killian Jones to his knees.

By the end of the night the almighty chef wouldn't be so mighty anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So… I definitely did not plan to take this long to update when I first posted this story… Just letting you know there will be 2-3 more chapters and – as all of my other stories – it will have an ending. I don't intend to leave any story unfinished. Now, without further ado…

…

Emma's heart leaped at the sound of Chef Jones office door slamming shut. It was just the two of them now. The dining room empty of customers as the kitchen was of employees.

She saw him round the corner and come into view.

The chef didn't even break stride at the sight of her. "What are you still doing here?" His gruff voice had that usual chilling bite to it.

Straightening her shoulders with a sense of purpose, she said, "Waiting for you."

Killian moved from one counter to the next, running his fingers over each long stainless steel countertop, his gaze searching, as if to check the completion of his staff cleaning duties. "I'm listening," he said without as much as a glance her way.

"Oh." Her brows rose. "Okay…" Emma cleared her throat, not sure what to do next. She needed his full attention for her plan to work.

He turned to check the utensils on the hanging rack, the metal clinking sound filling the space between them. "I can see you're slow with words as you are with a knife."

Emma sucked in a sharp breath at the insult. The crude chef had a remarkable ability to make one feel inadequate, and she was desperate to give him a piece of her mind. Her irritation kicked into a temper, her hands balling into fists as a bunch of curses made their way to the tip of her tongue. But in the end, she took a deep breath and swallowed the words down along with her pride.

"I have something for you," she managed to say in a low seductive tone.

Oblivious to her intentions, he replied, "Well, I need to close, so you can give it to me on the way out."

She was silent a minute, her gaze raking him. Without his custom made black chef's jacket he looked different. Less intimidating. More accessible. The rear view of him showcased a perfect ass and broad shoulders. And the clothes he wore – dress slacks in sapphire blue and a pristine white buttoned up dress shirt – gave him a softness that was all but tantalizing. Because Emma had no doubt Killian Jones was a hard man in many ways.

"Killian…" she said his first name out loud for the first time. It felt weird, but apparently it did the trick, because he paused and looked at her over his shoulder. "It needs to be here." Emma licked her lips in what she hoped was a subtle invitation.

The chef turned with interest and began making his way to her, his long legs closing the distance between them with a strong, unhurried stride. With every step he took, it was getting harder and harder to breathe. And it was only when he stepped close enough to suck all the air from her lungs that he came to a halt.

He stared. So she stared back, forcing herself not to take a step back and give him the satisfaction of seeing her intimidated; mission almost fucking impossible under the weight of that piercing blue gaze.

Then his head tilted, and his eyes narrowed. "What kind of game are you playing, Swan?" His words came out clipped and slow. And he sounded almost . . . angry.

Emma froze. For a long moment, she didn't even breathe. No man had ever been immune to her beauty. Maybe the chef wasn't into women. Or maybe he just wasn't into her. Either way, this was a mistake. She should go home and start looking for a new job. Leave the kitchens of Neverland and Killian Jones behind.

He annoyed her by turning away in a leisurely pivot without another word. She stared after him as he walked toward the line of stoves, his ease and disinterest reigniting her desire for sweet revenge.

Deftly, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her chiffon green blouse, the hue of which matched her eyes. She looked down, a satisfied smile curving her lips; her black lacy bra now peeking out and leaving little room to the imagination.

"I'm not." Her four-inch nude heels clicked across the vinyl tile floor as she made her way to him, rounding him until she was once again hit with that fierce blue gaze at eye-level. "Playing games," she drawled, a smile teasing the corner of her mouth.

His gaze shifted from her face to her plunging neckline and back to her eyes. "This" – he gestured at the space between them – "is written sexual harassment all over it."

Emma needed to act fast so he wouldn't get the chance to turn away again. "Not if it's consensual." Her tone was decisive, but her hands were hesitant as they needlessly fixed the perfectly pressed collar of his shirt.

Encircling her wrists with both hands, he stilled her movements. Then his grip tightened until it hurt and her fingers let go of the material.

With dilated green eyes, she met his gaze, her heart rate kicking up. Fear spread through her and brought a mist of perspiration to her skin. She didn't know him. What if she was way in over her head?

As if he sensed she was scared, he gentled his grip and released her. "Are you seeing anyone?" At first she thought she was deliriously imagining his voice softening, but then he spoke again with the same tenderness, "Do you have a significant other? A boyfriend maybe?"

"What business is that of you?" she bit out, rubbing at her wrist.

He kept his cool, his face impassive. "I was under the impression you were asking me to fuck you."

She gaped. Unable to counter.

"Well, are you?" he didn't let up. "Asking me to fuck you?"

This man was unbelievable. Obnoxious became too tame of a word to describe him now. No man had ever talked to her – _or turned her on_ – like that. Emma became aware of the tension inside her, a physical attraction so intense she was overwhelmed by it. How could this be? How could his blunt words – which should have sent her running for the door – send tingles of desire to every nerve in her body? Her sex clenched, her nipples hardened, and her lips parted to let out slow heavy breaths.

She must have lost her mind to even consider it. Actually having sex with her boss was _not_ part of the plan. But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't even the slightest bit curious to find out whether the chef's bed skills matched those he had in the kitchen. He certainly moved like a man who knew how to fuck. And if he didn't… well, that just might be vengeance enough.

Her lips were dry, so she licked them before answering. "I am," she said like a practiced seductress, not believing she was really going through with this.

Surprise flickered in those blue eyes, as if he'd been expecting her to back out. Then he glanced at her lips and Emma guessed he was thinking about kissing her. She wanted him to. She wanted to know the feel of those full lips, the taste of that wicked mouth… despite and maybe _because_ he was the most infuriating person she'd ever met. But then he caught her gaze again and said, "Then I need to know you're not attached to anyone."

Now she was the one who had been surprised. He didn't strike her as the conscientious type. And she wanted to ask him why he gave a damn, but eventually decided against it, not wanting to delve into anything serious. "I'm single."

"Good." Killian gave a brisk nod.

He stayed put, and so did she. Her gaze fell to his lips, her breathing quickening. With every passing second her desperation for that kiss intensified. But the bastard made her wait. And wait; as his gaze slid over her features, studying.

When he finally reached a hand to cup her face, she trembled. And the fact that his skin was cool against hers had nothing to do it. Then a thumb anchored under her chin and lifted it. She met his gaze, watching his eyes turn from that icy cold to an unfamiliar scorching hot while his thumb moved to trace the curve of her lower lip.

"And what makes you think you can handle it?" The rough timber of his voice hit her hard enough to send a surge of arousal rushing through her body.

His blue eyes bored into hers. And the intensity of his stare made her swallow hard. "What makes you think you can?" she challenged, one dirty blond brow rising.

His answer was to seal his mouth over hers.

Dear God…

She was amazed by how soft his lips were. And the pressure he exerted was so gentle – in complete contrast to the hard man that he was – that it made her want to grab him by the collar and kiss the hell out of him. But instead, she followed his lead and kissed him back with the same tenderness.

Emma had never seen this side of him – warm, sweet, gentle _and_ patient. She was sure he'd have her bent over and fucked boneless by now…

When their lips parted, she met that searing blue gaze again. She wanted to say something – _anything_ – but she could barely string two thoughts together when he was this close.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, which damn near stopped her heart. It made him impossibly more handsome. God. She wanted him. Badly. And the fact that up until ten minutes ago she couldn't stand to look at the guy had her mind spinning.

Then his mouth was on hers again, his head canting to deepen the kiss. She opened for him, welcoming the skilled invasion. Need coiled like a spring in her core, tightening with every thrust of Killian's tongue into her mouth. It was cold and flavored with rum-laced sweet cocktail. And she couldn't get enough of it.

Licking her lips between panty-dropping kisses, she savored the rich flavor of him. His big body backed hers against the stove, confining her. She ran her hands down his chest through his dress shirt, feeling the unforgiving hardness of his muscles. Her fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, her mind forming a picture of how he might look naked. If the stove at her back was a bloody furnace it couldn't have been hotter than the man in front of her. She could feel how it'd be between them. They were going to have mind-blowing, explosive sex.

She made a small, helpless sound of need and his mouth slanted over hers again. With every stroke of his tongue against hers, her body softened for him, grew moist and eager. And she couldn't wait to be filled by him, to feel the relentless drives of his cock. Hard and deep. Deep and hard.

Abruptly, he tore his mouth from hers and backed out of reach, running a hand through his glorious dark hair.

Emma stood there, gasping and confused. She was so hot and ready for this. _For him_. Then she realized what had made him react so strongly.

They weren't alone.


End file.
